Snape led Isabel hurriedly down the corridors and stairways to the Hospital Wing on the third floor. He was careful not to touch or jostle her blistered hands, and made sure none of the iron door handles touched her sensitive flesh. As they were walking, he started to have an epic argument with himself. I should not have agreed to the arrangements, he thought. I should have let McGonagall handle it. She would love nothing more than to stick her oar in as a third rudder. All that noble Gryffindor moral fiber was just begging for an outlet. Maybe I shall do that once I deliver her to Madam Pomfrey. A deep silence indicated a smaller part of his thoughts surfacing. The other voice in his head spoke up. Nevertheless, you ARE responsible for her predicament, you conceited arse. You may have dug yourself a hole to hide in where Lily and James were concerned, but this is not 16 years ago. You have destroyed the essence of that young...woman, for lack of a better description. You can very well see to it that she lives through this and does not end up on Voldemort's plate like a banquet dinner. He looked at Isabel trailing along at his side like a wraith. He himself was a tall man and tended to loom over others to intimidate them into doing what he wanted. She was only three inches shorter than he was, though. So no looming over her, I suppose, he thought. That particular fact limited his choices on how to deal with her.
Isabel studied the man that was leading her to the Healer. To her, Severus Snape looked like a harsh man. He looked like a man who hadn't been happy for a long time. She wondered why he bothered with her at all if he was always so ill tempered. She was embarrassed by her rather emotional scene in from of Albus. She never lost control like that. It was the new body with all of its new sensations and feelings. She was going to have to master it quickly or she would be of no use to anyone. She would lose what little of herself there was left. Still, she could afford to be charitable to this man. They stopped in front of double wooden doors.
"Here we are, the Hospital Wing.," announced Snape inanely. He winced, feeling like he had lost control of the situation, drowning in a farce. Get a hold of yourself, Snape, he ordered himself. He led Isabel through the double doors. Inside, a bustling Madam Pomfrey was hovering over a wooden counter, filling small bottles up with unknown liquids. She was humming under her breath and moving in a buoyant motion, up and down, from flat heel to the tip of her toes. Along the left and right walls lay beds with crisp white linens and purple blankets. Along the right wall, right next to the double doors, was a smaller door leading to the offices and living quarters of the Hogwarts school nurse.
"Poppy?" queried Snape. "I have your first patient of the year here that needs some direct mediwitch attention." Madame Pomfrey turned around and observed the Professor with his new and unusual guest. "And what seems to be the problem, dearies?" she asked making her way over to the couple. Isabel remained silent, looking awkwardly toward Snape for help.
"She's burned her hands. I think they are magical burns. She also has a scraped wrist," said Snape, not really wanting to explain everything. "Here," he said, holding Isabel's hands up for inspection. Madame Pomfrey looked them over, turning them this way and that.
"I know just the thing," she informed them. "I've got some Liverwotty paste here for just such things." Madame Pomfrey first cast a healing charm on the wrist injury before she reached up toward an orange glass jar on the shelf above her head. After opening the jar, she slipped on some worked dragon hide gloves that fit like second skin. Reaching over for Isabel's hands, Madame Pomfrey dabbed a fair amount of an orangey paste onto the palms. Isabel began to breathe easier as the burning sensation receded.
"That feels wonderful, Madam Pomfrey," sighed Isabel in relief. "You are very talented madam." Almost immediately, the pain was receding, followed by a strange numbing sensation. Isabel flexed her hands and fingers, marveling at their dexterity.
"Well, dearie, you're not the first patient I've ever have with burns," chortled the bubbling mediwitch. "You are probably, however, one of the easiest patients I've had taking a treatment. Are you here…visiting someone?" Madame Pomfrey looked at Snape and then to Isabel and back again, obviously curious. She was noting the cloak with the Slytherin badge.
"Isabel Solus is the newest installment of Dumbdore's penchant for strays. She's here at the Headmaster's request," said Snape, looking slightly uncomfortable under the mediwitch's regard. "I'm sure the Headmaster will inform you all about her at the staff meeting tonight."
"Are you teaching the DADA classes Isabel? Or should I call you Professor?" asked Madame Pomfrey. She stripped off her gloves and deposited them in the nearby sink, replacing the orange jar. She grabbed a swath of white linen and proceeded to wrap Isabel's hands, being careful to allow for finger movement.
"No, she's not an instructor, Poppy," replied Snape. "That is, the DADA position is Lupin's job once more." At this pronouncement, an unattractive and disgruntled look appeared upon the professor's face. He didn't like the fact that Lupin had landed the position…again. In Snape's official opinion, Remus Lupin shouldn't even have received the position because he was a werewolf. However, with Voldemort out in the open and moral support flocking to the side of Dumbledore, the headmaster's decisions were being heralded as divine truth. The Board of Governors had lodged only a token protest before backing down when Dumbledore told them it was the in the best interest of the students and the fight against the Dark Lord. Which means I'll be back to brewing that blasted potion again, thought Snape. "The headmaster has decided that the faculty will require additional help, in light of all the extra curricular activities that we have become involved in," he continued on, "But he has yet to inform me of who will be given the dubious pleasure of her company during the school year. I can only pray that it is not I."
"Oh, I had no idea. How thoughtful of Albus," mused the mediwitch. She finished wrapping Isabel's hands and tied the linen strips off. She reached for another object on the shelf.
"I believe that I will spend time with ALL the instructors before discussing with Albus the final decision," said Isabel, offended by having the two staff members talk about her over her head. "I may reside in the dungeons, but that doesn't mean that I shall stay there all the time." She gave Snape a narrowed look. "As I suspect some do. I like fresh air. I like flowers and I love company." Isabel drew herself up to her full height to hide that fact that her new knees were knocking together in a crescendo of noise. Snape looked at her as if she had grown a second head. "Thank you, Madame Pomfrey, I feel remarkably recovered and able to attend to the rest of the details of my arrival here. Professor Snape, if you would be so kind as to show me the new rooms?" Isabel took one solid step at a time, attempting to exit the room with dignity, only to stop at the iron door handles. She bit her lip in consternation, debating how badly she wanted to leave. I have never felt this way before. Truly, I am reverting to a colt to be behaving so irrationally.
"For Merlin's sake!" exclaimed Snape. "Let me open the doors for you. You only just had your hands tended to." He began moving toward the doors only to see her wrap her hands in the folds of his cloak, grasp the handles, open the doors, and sail out on her own steam. He started after her when he felt Madam Pomfrey's hand on his shoulder and turned to see her offering him a pair of ladies' gloves. He thanked her and then followed in the wake of the Unicorn.
Isabel had to stop ten feet down the corridor and wait for Severus. She didn't know where the dungeons were. She didn't know where she was in even the simplest terms. Her eyes panned the corridor and the uppers stairwells. Her heart sank when she saw one of the stairwells begin to move. If she moved too far from the infirmary doors, who knows where she might end up; she would be lost in this huge castle. She saw Severus come out of the double doors and approach her with a rather grim expression. His eyes never left her form standing a few feet from him. In his hands she saw a pair of black leather gloves and he was slapping them against his thigh while he studied her.
"You didn't have to leave in alt," he drawled. "I was only trying to keep information to a minimum to let Dumbledore decide how much he wanted to say. He said he was keeping you a secret and I suppose he has his reasons." Severus noticed she was getting pink in the face.
"I am not a fool," she said. "I understand perfectly what you were trying to do."
"It doesn't look that way from over here," replied Severus mockingly. He didn't know why he was baiting her. However, it made him feel better… and wasn't he Snape the bastard, anyway?
"I have had centuries to contemplate the human condition, Severus—" she began.
"Well, you had me fooled for certain, then," he inserted with a twisted grin. She opened her mouth, but he forestalled her. "Let me take you to what will be your rooms during your—visit." He started down the corridor with Isabel following close behind.
Severus didn't bother to slow his pace; he had a class to teach, after all. He led her through down the stairs toward the first floor and dungeons. After going down a final flight of steps, they were in a four-point intersection. Behind them were the stairs to the ground floor. To the left was a hallway with a set of dungeon rooms, and the doors to Slytherin House. Ahead were a set of storage rooms and a door with a plaque on it saying Argus Filch. To the right were the Potions classroom, and the office and private rooms of Severus Snape. Along the wall, the eerie flickering of the torches made Isabel shiver. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea, she thought uneasily. Severus made a sharp turn to the right and walked stridently toward the end of the hallway, robes fanning out behind him.
He opened the far door, revealing a large and spacious, yet barren room. With a wave of his wand, Severus lit the torches along the wall. He walked in, Isabel trailing behind him about a meter. Her eyes drank in the stark shape of the rectangular room, and again feelings of abandonment, fear, and insecurity threatened to swamp her. She made a noise in the back of her throat that made Severus pause, but then he continued without looking back.
"This is a sitting area, actually. There are two doors at the far end of the room. One is the bedroom and the other is the bathing chamber. None are furnished but I'm sure the house elves, alerted to your presence, will be overjoyed to refurbish it to your exact tastes. The fireplace here will be taken off the Floo network immediately so you won't have to worry about unexpected visitors or callers," explained Severus, indicating with his hands all the features of the apartments. What is a flu network, thought Isabel. A very disheartening thought flew through her head. If I stay here, I will be expected to know these things. I will be expected to know EVERYTHING. The thought filled her with a sort of panicked horror. She was never, ever, going to be able to pull this off. Then common sense asserted itself. You will be fine, she told herself. You have centuries propping you up. This is very easy; it WILL be easy, once you get the general ideas down. Yes, yes, no need to panic. Isabel managed to talk herself down from the abject terror of the situation lying before her.
Severus observed her expressions watching them chase each other across her face. He saw the fear, pain, misery, hope, and finally calm. He wanted to say something, but it had to be this way. He didn't do 'nice'. She should not rely on him for anything. It was better for her to go to McGonagall or Dumbledore if she was feeling sorry for herself again. He couldn't be a shoulder to cry on. However, he could do one thing for her. He could help to make her strong in the face of this adversity. He reached deep into himself to find the way. He felt another piece of his soul shatter at what he was about to do. The pain of it motivated him to direct his own feelings of misery, bitterness and hatred back at the source.
"It's not dreadful at all, Isabel, just some dust. I'm sure you encountered worse housekeeping out in Nature's woodlands. I can't believe that after a few hours as a woman, you are turning your nose up at the place YOU requested," said Severus with a sneer.
"It's not that. It wasn't what I was thinking," replied Isabel shakily.
"Still wallowing in self-pity, I see. If you walked off the pedestal you see yourself standing upon, You would realize and be thankful to still be alive and in one piece," said Snape with a broadening grin as he watched her eyes widen. "Do you think you are better than mortals?" he asked.
"I NEVER said anything remotely resembling your appalling accusations," said Isabel through gritted teeth. Severus stalked toward her and grabbed her right arm.
"But you were thinking it weren't you?" he asked softly, his breath caressing her cheek. "You've been thinking it the moment you realized what nature of spell you let me cast upon you." She jerked her head back. Twisting out of his loose grip, she opened her mouth to reply to his taunting. Then she closed her mouth. He was a little surprised that she didn't try to make excuses for herself. He withdrew a small wooden block from his robes. He tapped the block and murmured a charm. Transfiguration wasn't his strong point but even he could turn the block into a crate. He set it down in the middle of the room in front of the fireplace.
"Your throne, my lady," he said mockingly to her. "And a pair of gloves to protect your oh-so-superior hands from the door handles." He laid the gloves on the seat of the crate. He walked toward the exit. Looking one final time at her over his shoulder, he said, "I shall inform the house elves that you will require some help settling in. Ask them for anything you might require." His voice took on a softer, more velvety tone. "And wear your pride like a shield, Isabel; you will need its strength to survive." Severus snarled at himself for allowing even that bit of concern and marched out of the room. The door made a loud 'bang' as it was roughly closed.
It's more like a prison than a room, thought Isabel. She looked around the sitting room before walking toward the crate. She picked up and slid on the gloves. Sinking to sit on the crate, she buried her hands in her face and cried.
* * * *
Harry, Ron and Hermione were eating in the Great Hall. In between bites, they were talking about their new class schedules. As usual, 90% of their lesson schedules matched them up perfectly.
"Gosh 'Mione if you hadn't tutored us I don't think we would have had this many classes" said Ron. "I dunno whether to hug you or hex you." Harry was reading his when he suddenly stilled.
"What is it, Harry?" asked Hermione worriedly. He whispered something she didn't catch. She leaned over to hear him better.
"I have Occlumency on Monday evenings," he whispered. Occlumency, the subject that, had he taken it seriously, would have saved Sirius. It was a familiar pain, a dull ache in the middle of his chest whenever he thought of his godfather. It was also something he didn't want to admit to anyone. Not Ron, Hermione or even Mrs. Weasley could get him to talk about it all summer.
"I don't have that," Ron said, looking at his schedule. "Must be a private lesson you know, like before." Ron caught the look on Harry's face and clamped his mouth shut.
"Well I have Arithmancy, only its double for me," Hermione said, trying to change the subject. She knew that Sirius, his death, and all of last year had been very hard for Harry to handle. She noticed on the Hogwarts Express that he seemed to be quieter than usual. Not even Luna Lovegood coming into the compartment and rattling on about the strange places she had been over the summer had gotten a reaction. Well, it had gotten a reaction from Ron, but Harry spent almost the entire train ride up there staring out the window.
"There is one good thing, though," Ron said trying to inject a note of cheer. "We have our Apparating classes this year!" He looked very pleased with himself to have imparted this bit of news.
"Oh my gosh, Ron, you're right!" Hermione said. "Although we will have to take the Floo Network to a different building to practice; since you can't Apparate here in the castle. Hogwarts, a History, you know."
Harry wasn't paying attention, though. He was staring down at the slip of paper in his hands, lost in thought. All that kept running through his mind was Occlumancy and Snape. His hands suddenly clutched tight, crumpling the class schedule. Harry felt a hand on his shoulder and he turned to yell at whoever it was, when his gaze focused on Hermione's face, her lips moving.
"-by with a note saying Dumbledore wants to see us, Harry. Harry? Harry!" Hermione said shaking Harry's shoulder.
"You okay, Harry?" asked Ron with concern. "You don't look too good. Like you ate a bad Bertie Bott's Flavored Bean. Maybe you should go see Madame Pomfrey, eh?"
"I'm fine. Hermione, you said Dumbledore wanted to see us. We have 30 minutes 'till Herbology. We better get going." Harry stood up, grabbed his book pack and started for Dumbledore's office. Ron was fast behind him, Hermione just a little behind them both after explaining that they would see the other Gryffindors later. In ten minutes, the trio was sailing up the steps to Dumbledore's office.
"Ah, I'm glad the three of you could make it," Dumbledore said cheerily. "I have some things I want to clarify before we start this school year."
"Is it about the woman claiming to be a unicorn?" Hermione asked, sensing where this conversation was going. Ron and Harry leaned a little more forward in their seats. They could see actually visible signs of strain. Dumbledore looked old. Not the old that he normally did, with the white hair and long beard. It was more that he seemed less like the keeper of all knowing logic than a tired and haggard wizard.
"It is, Hermione, and yes, she is a unicorn, or she used to be," Dumbledore said. When all three students opened their mouths to say something, he held up his hand to forestall them. "I don't need to tell you that while it is obvious we cannot mask her presence here, it is imperative that her origins are not to be told to ANYONE. Only those in the Order will be aware of her actual identity," he finished.
"It's all Snape's fault isn't it? He did that to her," Harry said.
"Professor Snape," Dumbledore emphasized, "Did a very courageous thing today. He saved Isabel, which is her new name, from certain death. Harry, I need you to be respectful to Professor Snape this year. I understand how you feel, but I have to ask this of you," Dumbledore said, looking at the rebellious teen. Ever since he had told Harry the truth about the prophecy, he felt like had he lost him in some way. The closeness that had developed during Harry's first year was ebbing away. The boy who had come to Hogwarts five years ago shy, modest and full of wonder, was angry, bitter and defiant.
"I just want the three of you to help Isabel adjust to life here at Hogwarts. I don't know how long her stay with us will be. It all depends on whether we can apprehend the Hunter that is out in the Forbidden Forest or not. On top of this, there is still the business of the Order tracking as many Death Eaters as possible and filling the ranks of the Aurors." Dumbledore looked at the three students, studied them for their reactions.
"You can count on me, Headmaster." Hermione said firmly.
"Me too, Professor," chimed in Ron. "I'll look after her like she was my sister." Harry stood up. He debated saying no. He, Harry, desperately wanted to do something that wasn't dictated by the Headmaster. Dumbledore had already taken enough liberties with his life. As Harry looked Dumbledore straight in the face, he felt his resolve waver. Dumbledore was the closest thing to a parental figure Harry had, next to Sirius. The dull pain returned to his chest. He didn't want to lose another important person in his life.
"All right, Professor, I'll do as you ask," said Harry; there was only a trace of the disappointment he felt in his voice.
"Thank you," Albus let his regard linger on Harry's face. "Here is a note for you to take to Professor Sprout to explain any tardiness." Dumbledore floated a small folded slip of paper to Hermione. Hermione and Ron recognized a dismissal when they heard one. They headed out of the office toward their first class. Harry trailed behind. He stopped at the door and turned around to look at the headmaster.
"Professor," he began in a hoarse voice, as he brought up a painful subject. "I noticed on my schedule that I have Occlumency lessons. I assume...I...that is, I am to be taking them with Professor Snape?" Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment, and Harry was almost sure he wasn't going to say anything.
"No Harry, you will take the lessons with me," Dumbledore said gravely. "And I must emphasize that I need you to take it seriously this time."
"Professor, if it's a matter of my behavior, I can be…better this time," replied Harry, although inwardly, he cringed at the thought of having dealings with the Dark Arts loving Potions Master on a regular basis.
"No Harry, I do not doubt you, but I believe Professor Snape will be a very busy man this term, and I would like to make sure you receive the training you need. I want to...do things right this time," said Dumbledore softly. "Now head on to class, Harry, your schoolmates are waiting for you." Harry nodded once and left to join his friends.
* * * *
"Why is miss crying?" exclaimed a tinselly voice to Isabel's right. Isabel looked up from her hands to see a small stringy female house-elf staring at her. Knee height in stature, the house elf sported the largest bat like ears she had ever seen. Her skin was gray and wrinkly, and her head bobbed atop the shoulders. The elf's eyes took up half her face, with two small holes for a nose and a wide slash for a mouth.
"It's nothing for you to worry about, elf." Isabel began to wipe her eyes with the edges of the cloak. "Are you here to help me settle in? And what is your name?" asked Isabel with a small encouraging smile.
"My name is Wimbly, miss," answered the elf. "Professor Snape tells us to helps miss with her new rooms. What would miss likes?" asked Wimbly with her head cocked to one side.
"I…er…I don't know. I will…um…leave it to your…imagination. Nothing too black; I really like green though," babbled Isabel, striving to seem knowledgeable. "Who is 'Us'?" asked Isabel looking around for more company but only seeing Wimbly.
"Us is us miss," said Wimbly, who clapped her hands. Instantly several dozen house elves began to appear and looked at Wimbly expectantly. She looked toward Isabel. "This is us miss. We will helps you now." Wimbly clapped her hands again and began chattering quickly in a language Isabel could not follow too well. House elves spread to the far corners of the apartments. Like a symphony performing with Wimbly as the conductor, the room began to sparkle and shine. They left the door open and other elves poured in with all sorts of furnishings. Rugs, lamps, bookshelves, tables, chairs… all arrived and were arranged by the capable Wimbly. The procession mirrored a line of ants, the elves seemed capable of bearing loads that were twice or three times their own weight. They lit the fire, laid new rugs, positioned the new furniture and brought in new sheets for the bedroom. Isabel walked from room to room, watching the elves work like a small army of industriousness.
When the elves were done, they left, leaving only Wimbly. The parlor was aglow in soft yellow light from the fireplace. A maroon plush couch sat in front of it, flanked by matching chairs on either side. Warm cherry wood end tables and a coffee table completed the ensemble. A side board had been brought in, along with five piece dining set for the right wall. The left wall boasted empty bookshelves. Isabel had dismissed the wrought iron candelabra so the only light other than the fire were six wall sconces. But what delighted the young woman the most were the touches of deep forest green scattered about on pillows, throws, and a vase of flowers on the dining table. The bedroom contained a four poster cherry wood bed with cream linens, matching bedside table with a water pitcher, an armoire, a chest of drawers with mirror, and a wooden hope chest at the foot of the bed filled with extra blankets…in green.
"This is wonderful, Wimbly, I love what you have done," Isabel said happily as she toured the rooms. A loud rumbling sound emitted from her stomach. Isabel chuckled, "I think I'm hungry, Wimbly, would you show me were I might get something to eat?"
"Miss waits here, Wimbly gets it for miss," said Wimbly, clucking around Isabel, leading her to the couch. Wimbly dashed out of the room toward the kitchens. In the hallway, she passed a boy who had been eyeing the activity in the dungeons with an interested eye during his breaks. His blonde hair was slicked back and he was straightening his clothing as he walked to the staircase.
"You there, elf, what are you doing?" he asked. Wimbly stopped to look at the boy. She noticed his prefect badge.
"Wimbly's is getting some food for miss," she answered with a trembling voice.
"WHO is miss, elf?" asked the prefect icily. His eyes turned a steely grey and his expression hardened, attempting to intimidate the elf. It seemed to be working. Wimbly's knees began to shake. There's something not right about master's interest in the miss, she thought. But master gots a badge, so Wimbly must tell him.
"Miss is Professor Snape's friend. She lives in that room now. Wimbly is fetching something for miss to eats," replied Wimbly timidly.
"Oh really," drawled the boy. He started toward the door, intending to knock. The boy heard voices which stopped him dead in his tracks.
"Dra-co," called Pansy Parkinson in her most obnoxious high pitched voice. "Hurry, Drackie, or we'll be late for class!" Draco looked at the door but turned away with a sour twist to his lips. He was going to punish Pansy for her interference. He went from sour to smiling in seconds at the thought.
* * * *
As morning passed into afternoon to early evening, Peter Pettigrew, a.ka, Wormtail, waited at the table in the darkest corner at The Hog's Head inn. He had almost given up for the day and was going to retire to his rooms when he spotted his quarry enter the common room.
"Bartender!" bellowed Pettigrew in his best impression of his boss. "More swill over here, please, to wipe the taste I already have!" The hooded man who entered the inn made his way to the seemingly drunk man in the corner. He sat down, and waited for the drunk's glass to be delivered. After the bartender left, the thickset man known as Peter leaned forward.
"Well, do you have it?" he asked softly. The other man waited one long moment before speaking.
"Not yet, some new teacher at the school almost caught me. I will get it, though, make no mistake. This is just a short delay," replied the Hunter.
"Make sure it's short. He doesn't like to be kept waiting, you know," Pettigrew giggled. "He has got quite the temper."
"I'll get it," growled the Hunter. "I'll get what he wants and I will personally KILL the one responsible."
"Well if it's a new teacher, then it must be Lupin," said Pettigrew speculatively. "I had heard there was a hubbub about him teaching, but the headmaster got his way. It was in the Daily Prophet."
"Lupin, eh," said the Hunter. "That's the werewolf, isn't it?" A sinister smile broadened the Hunter's face. "Looks like a double hunt; I really love those." The Hunter dropped some change onto the table and left the inn. Pettigrew yawned, and then took the steps up to his room. He had a lot to tell the Dark Lord when he returned to his side. The Dark Lord hated liars.
* * * *
An hour before dinner, Isabel was having a problem. She was grossly uncomfortable. And she was afraid she would ruin the new rooms.
"Wimbly!" she summoned imperiously. Wimbly arrived in her room, and looked at Isabel inquiringly.
"Wimbly, do you know a Hermione Granger?" she asked. Wimbly nodded. "Would you please ask her to come to these rooms immediately?" Wimbly nodded and took off. Thirty minutes had passed when she heard a knock on the door.
"Enter," Isabel said. The door opened to reveal a nervous Hermione Granger in the portal.
"Well, come in," invited Isabel. Hermione moved into the room, oblivious to the figure that had ducked at the sound of her arrival in the dungeons. Grey eyes watched her enter the rooms at the end of the hall. When the door was shut behind her, he emerged from around the corner. He contemplated the events that had been happening this day. Draco Malfoy smelled a mystery about that occupant at the end of the hall. And he was going to find out what was going on.